


Corona

by jerseydevious



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Happy May the Fourth, awkward force conversations with your terrible no good father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/pseuds/jerseydevious
Summary: Luke has a few conversations with his father.





	Corona

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, it's been almost exactly a year since I last Star Warsed. But what kind of Star Wars fan would I be if I missed the May holidays, so here's a super quick-n-dirty fic that's mostly just....... Luke Lukeing at his awful Sith dad.

For once, it had been pirates, which Luke thought was pretty lucky. No Imps were tipped off, which meant no need to evacuate and steal away into hyperspace before Darth Vader dropped out of space with a taste for rebel blood, and pirates, even crafty, had limited resources. Easy enough to fend off, save for one small detail: they didn’t miss nearly as often as stormtroopers did. 

 

“Luke,” Leia said, exasperated, “you could at least use the crutches.”

 

“It’s not that bad.” He leaned on his burned leg a bit more, and the color fled from his face. “See? Nothing,” he said, weakly.

 

“Organsa’s sake,” Leia muttered, and she snatched his arm and pulled it over her thin shoulder, standing a bit on her tip-toes to support him. 

 

He’d asked about Organsa once, because it was name Leia invoked often; it was a name with a story behind it, and if there was anything that anyone from Tatooine knew, it was that stories had power. Whether you were a slave whispering about the legends of the dragons and their lost wings, or a bounty hunter with your ears pricked for damning intel, stories had strength and meaning and lives of their own. The way to survive was to collect as many as possible. To sift through them as a librarian of the mundane, watching over a vast collection of junkyard knowledge. So Luke had asked, and Leia had gone pale white, like her dress, before telling him in a whisper that slowly gained steadiness and form about the lost goddess Organsa, the patron of mercy. 

 

Alderaan had been a planet that believed so deeply in mercy their royal house was named for it. Alderaan had been a planet that believed  _ so _ deeply in mercy, and it had been ruthlessly culled as a demonstration of power. This, and nothing more. It made Luke sick with impotent anger to think about, but if he tried not to think about it, he was no better than the blinded citizens that lived on the rich Core Worlds and ignored the horrors of the Empire only because it wasn’t happening to them. Alderaan wasn’t his planet, but Alderaan deserved to be remembered by more than just its survivors. So Luke was stuck with his anger, and the new story he carefully shelved into his collection.

 

Together they hobbled to Luke’s bunk, and she eased him on the bed, rolling up his pants leg to readjust the bacta bandage. Luke swatted at her hand. “You’re fussing, Leia, I swear it’s fine.”

 

Leia huffed. “Yeah, of course it is, that’s why you’re pale as Hoth. Get some rest, Luke.”

 

Luke mustered up a grin for her. She’d been worn around the edges, since the loss of Han. “I think I’ll sleep like a rock, actually.”

 

Leia grinned back, and it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She left without another word—suns, he knew she took injuries hard. She thought too much about everything she had to lose, like anyone who has been suddenly and ruthlessly confronted with impermanence. But that was a problem for tomorrow—he really was tired. 

 

He closed his eyes. He rolled over, punched his pillow a bit. He rolled over again, and kicked out his legs. He pulled the blanket up to his nose, and then rucked it back down again. The throbbing pain in his leg grew all-consuming and, frustrated, he screwed his eyes shut and focused on the Force.

 

His training with Yoda had been short, and focused mostly on lifting objects and fighting (which, in retrospect, was probably intentional) but they had meditated together once. Luke hadn’t been the best at it. Yoda had been more cryptic about it than anything else, only harping on  _ releasing one’s feelings into the Force, you must. _ It could help with the pain, maybe, but mostly, it’d give him something to do—if it worked, it’d be useful on all those sleepless nights. 

 

His fingers stretched, as if he could feel the Force with his living skin; the world around him began to drop away, becoming a series of heartbeats.  _ Thum. Thum. Thum. _ Instinctively, he knew which one was Leia’s—the others were indistinct, colorless. The Force spiderwebbed into the space around them, looking for the inhale and exhale of life—miles and miles of empty space—running ever forward—

 

_ Son. _

 

Luke jerked upwards, slamming his forehead on the bar above his head. “Ow!” Quickly, he threw up whatever mental shields he could, pulling his senses back from the galaxy beyond until they nestled beside him in impatient little whips.

 

“What are you doing here?” Luke snarled. Conscious that he’d spoken out loud, he amended,  _ what are you doing here? _ __   
  


You _ interrupted  _ me,  _ young one. _

 

Luke shook his head.  _ No, I didn’t. I was meditating. _

 

Dark, rhythmic amusement, almost like a chuckle.  _ That was not meditating. That was opening yourself to the Force, and thusly making yourself a convenient target for any Force sensitive in range.  _

 

Luke flushed.  _ Well, fine. You can go back to slaughtering innocent people, now.  _

 

That got him some irritation, but it was muted, muddled, as if Luke were peering at it through heat distortion. It was almost as if—

 

_ Meditation is not focused outward,  _ Vader continued, rolling through Luke’s train of thought.  _ It is inward.   _

 

_ It doesn’t seem right to spend so long focused only on yourself,  _ Luke said.  _ Not when there’s…  _ that _ out there.  _

 

Some half-felt, old and nearly dead bitterness wafted to Luke.  _ The faults of the Jedi were many, Luke. You will soon learn that their path is futile and misguided.  _

 

_ It wasn’t a Jedi that cut off my hand,  _ Luke snarled back. For a moment, there was a shared image of an anooba, jaws parted to leap on its prey, and then it was gone. 

 

_ That… was regrettable,  _ Vader said, stiffly.  _ But you left me no choice. _

 

Luke’s anger spiked, but he breathed out, and let it go. There was nothing he could do about it now—the hand was gone, his father’s lightsaber was gone, and so was a piece of him, some inclination to dreaming. But he had Leia, and Artoo, and Threepio, and Chewie, and he’d get Han back, too. And maybe that would make up the difference. 

 

_ There’s no such thing as not having a choice, _ Luke said.

 

The winter sands of Vader’s presence in the Force shifted, and this time, the image they shared was the image of the sad huts lining the back streets of Mos Espa. The slave quarters. Vader’s presence retreated, as if burned. 

 

Luke’s chest tightened. He hadn’t meant his comment quite like… that.  _ I’m sorry, _ he said.  _ I didn’t mean it like that. _

 

Vader did not reply, but his retreat stopped, and his black fire hung around Luke like a moon about its planet. There was still an odd quality to him, something slippery. 

 

Wait. He knew what that was, that sensation, that loss of— _ You’re drugged, _ Luke blurted. 

 

Vader’s response was wordless agreement. Speaking, here, seemed to be different; even when communication was shared in words he didn’t seem to hear them. They existed in his brain, and were simply rearranged. They weren’t there, and then they were, simple as the dawn. 

 

_ Why? _ Luke asked. 

 

The irritation morphed into a cold-burning rage.  _ It is none of your concern.  _

 

_ You’re my father, _ Luke said, and it was the first time he’d admitted even to himself that Vader’s claim had rung true in the Force, much less to anyone else.  _ That makes it my concern, I guess. _

 

Another image: the suns, low in the sky, radiating sweet light and comfortable heat. Warmth. Overbearing warmth. 

 

Vader didn’t offer him another answer, only shared a thought of comfortable and softblackness before retreating fully, but the warmth stayed with Luke. That night, he dreamt of stars.

 

-

 

Luke, for the most part, tried to put the weird mental conversation out of his mind. It was late, and he’d been in pain, and Vader had been under the influence of something, so it hadn’t even really been Vader. It changed nothing. 

 

(In Luke’s secret mind, he knew it had changed quite a bit;  _ my father, _ he had said, he had claimed. Vader was no longer an unfortunate circumstance, a nightmare, a shadow, but my father, and there was a world of difference between a dragon that stalked the desert and a dragon that stalked the hall.) 

 

He was busy enough with the Alliance anyway; there were supply runs to make, especially since they’d lost quite a deal of fuel to the pirates. In fact, it was on a mission to escort Leia to negotiate for supplies that he sat down, swallowed, and reached into the Force. 

 

Vader came more quickly now, filled with something like alarm.  _ If you do not learn how to meditate, child, you will be discovered by even the weakest Force sensitive.  _

 

Luke rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t have pegged Vader for the paranoid type, but he guessed it was hard to know much about a man that wore a blank mask all the time. 

 

_ I was looking for you,  _ he said, somewhat embarrassed. 

 

Again, that image of Tatooine’s suns, beating down on him.  _ That is not the way. We share… a connection. It is how we can converse like this. You need only reach for it.  _

 

Luke wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t exactly sure he liked being connected to Vader like that, but he couldn’t deny that he needed the man’s help about now. 

 

There was a sharp tug in his mind, a pull, as if someone had tensed a string Luke hadn’t even known was there. Tentatively, Luke reached for it—it was cold but dry, oppressive without humidity and wild without freedom. 

 

_ I need your help _ , Luke said. 

 

A formless question, and Luke sighed, and said,  _ I don’t know how to swim.  _

 

Another question, perhaps more confused this time.  _ I got a little… marooned. And I think there’ll be a space port not too far from me, but I crashed on an island in the middle of a lake, and there’s… no one here,  _ Luke explained. 

 

_ Those foolhardy rebels never taught you to swim?  _ Vader asked. Luke got the distinct impression that, had it been spoken, it would have been roared. 

 

_ Haven’t really gotten the chance,  _ Luke said. 

 

The anger that he felt from Vader now was hot as a crown fire, and filled with loathing like pus in an infected wound.  _ Fools,  _ Vader snarled. In his mind’s eye, or perhaps Vader’s, he saw the decapitated and bloody heads lined in a row, sightless eyes lolling.

 

_ Stop it! It’s not that serious, calm down!  _

 

_ It is a grave miscalculation,  _ Vader answered petulantly, but his rage quieted and slowed and cooled off into the glacial presence Luke recognized as normal. 

 

_ Just tell me how to swim, _ Luke said.  _ I’ll be fine.  _

 

Vader was filled with reluctance.  _ I, _ he began, strangely,  _ have not swam anywhere for a very long time.  _

 

Luke blinked.  _ The… I guess you can’t swim with that armor on, huh. That’s… what do you do if you have to get to the other side of a lake or something?  _

 

Vader replied with a memory, of a black night and a smooth glass lake—as Luke watched, a leather glove stretched forward and curled, and the water split away from itself, rising into two torrenting walls framing a strip of soaked land. 

 

_ Seems a little conspicuous, _ Luke said, but he was impressed despite himself. 

 

_ Very _ .

 

Luke leaned back, his spine bumping against the tree behind him.  _ I don’t guess you remember, then.  _

 

_ I will come and get you myself, Luke.  _

 

_ No, _ Luke snapped.  _ I can do it. I’m not going to be an Imp.  _

 

_ You must recognize your importance, my son. It is your destiny to— _

 

_ There’s no such thing as not having a choice, _ Luke interrupted.  _ And I mean that. My destiny is my own.  _

 

Vader did not answer, but he did not truly leave until nearly an hour later. 

 

-

 

Luke folded himself on his bunk, legs crossed, and hummed a quiet tune he remembered Aunt Beru singing him to sleep with as a child. He closed his eyes and reached out for the quiet thread of ice in his brain, and whispered along it,  _ my destiny is my own. But so is yours.  _

 

There was a low rumble like a stirring dragon. For a moment Luke was struck with the image of a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and eyes to match, her head adorned with a white lace webbing and delicate beading. She was beautiful and Luke could feel her happiness from decades past, reverberating in the senses of the man who owned this memory.

 

_ Is that my mother? _ Luke asked. 

 

_ That was a mistake, _ Vader answered.  _ My destiny is the will of the Dark Side, boy, and so is yours. The sooner you learn this truth, the easier your path will be. Join me and I will make it painless.  _

 

_ That sounds like slavery, _ Luke said. 

 

The rumble turned into a growl. Luke suddenly tasted ash in his mouth.  _ Because you are young and foolish. You will learn, child, and I will teach you.  _

 

_ I think,  _ Luke said,  _ I will teach you. _ Abruptly he retreated, because he didn’t want Vader to know that just for a moment, looking at that image of the woman in what Luke was sure was a wedding dress, Luke had felt a familiar spark of something light.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
